On the final morning of my twenties, I rolled over in bed and faced my husband only to find that he was already awake and creepily staring at me:
Husband: How does it feel?
Me: How does what feel?
Husband: To wake up on the final day of your 20’s?
Me: REALLY?! (Thinks: REALLY, you jerk-douche)
Husband: (Smiles) I mean that as a compliment!
Me: A compliment, by reminding me of the END…
Husband: The END of what? You are more beautiful than ever! Your skin is perfect! You’ve grown so much since we started dating freshmen year! We’re married, you birthed our children, and you put the word aging to shame!
Me: OH! (suppressing a smile) You still shouldn’t have started the day by reminding me that it is the last day of my 20’s…
This week I celebrated another birthday. We spent my special day at the museum, ogling a van Gogh exhibit. Walking in the rose gardens surrounding the sprawling former private Southern California residence (of a long dead self-made millionaire) that was converted into an epic epicenter of natural and man-made art.
I ate artisanal overpriced ice cream. It was a sunny and beautiful day. My husband wore a shirt that he knows I find him hot in.
When did this happen?
When did we grow up?
Where did these lovely kids spawn from?
When did we become less petty, more refined in taste, yet more silly in nature?
I am no longer 20-something, and there is no longing and regret associated with this fact because in this passage of time marked by years and birthdays, I grew up and learned crucial things about myself, things that have been at the core of everything wonderful in my life. For this precise, reason I say hello and welcome to another day in my 30’s.
What did you say?